


Glimpses

by SophisticatedRainbowSprinkles



Category: Grey's Anatomy, Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-22 02:14:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14298543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophisticatedRainbowSprinkles/pseuds/SophisticatedRainbowSprinkles
Summary: So I still haven't been able to get my shit together enough to write the stories I already have well, but I figured I could use the time to see if any of my more outlandish ideas for long fics would be able to find an audience here. I'm gonna put a description of the first chapter of a bunch of concepts here, and people can comment if they want those ideas to become full length. It'll be easier for me to start writing again if I just write whatever comes to mind.Note: The ships and shows listed are not going to all apply to all of them. I am going to put the ones that apply to them in the descriptions, along with TW and ratings as usual.





	Glimpses

**Author's Note:**

> Idea 1: A story about Sanvers, told in the perspective of different strangers and passing acquaintances every chapter. EG: the pizza delivery guy, their next door neighbor, etc. The chapter titles would be the names of the people.
> 
> Chapter 1: Josefina Espinoza  
> Note: You do not have to speak Spanish to understand this chapter. Everything is either stated more than once or unnecessary to get the point. As always, I am not a native speaker, so people can feel free to correct my usage/any typos in Spanish or English. The only thing you should know is that Maggie's name (Margarita) means Pearl. It comes from Latin, which comes from Greek, which stole the word from Persian. It also refers to daisies. I learned all that today.
> 
> TW: *HUGE SPOILER* This passage refers to the so called "Beast", a train known for carrying thousands of immigrants to the US border every year. It's infamous for all kinds of insane human rights violations. Since these people are violating the law, they aren't protected from gangs and other violent groups. The journey is especially dangerous for unattended young children. It's a huge humanitarian crisis, and people barely know about it. To learn more about this, there is a really good documentary in Spanish called Cordero y Venado.

“How went the work today?” Pedro Espinoza called out in broken English to his wife as she stumbled through the threshold into the tiny, cramped apartment. Josefina plopped the groceries haphazardly onto the table and slumped into a chair.

“Exhausting like normal.” She sighed, sweeping her curly black hair out of her face, which shines from an indeterminate mix of sweat and sebum under the oddly yellow glow of the kitchen light. The raucous sound of laughter emanated from the next room, a sure sign that the boys had finished their schoolwork for the night and would be expecting their dinner soon. Josefina forced herself up and began to dig through the ingredients she had picked up.

“Was the gringa couple still there today?” Pedro asks, trying to lift her spirits. She seemed to be quite entertained by them yesterday.

“Oh yes. The pale one came early, right after I opened up. She walked right through and disappeared onto the beach. She came back about an hour later red all over.”

Pedro laughed at the picture in his mind of the odd American woman deep fried by the sun.

“She wandered around confused, so I called out to her and pointed to the aloe vera. The other one came down while she was counting pesos one at a time at my register. All I can remember is the sound of the laughing. This one has a loud, distinct laugh. She had to sit down on the floor because she couldn’t stop. Dijo que era tan enrojecida como su novia. She almost cried, which only made her more red, and really upsetted the other one. She didn’t speak Spanish, so she thought I was insulting her.”

Josefina vividly envisions the incident in her mind as she places a pot on the stove to boil. She sees the tall one scratching at her upper arms and nose relentlessly, skin peeling off and floating to the floor. She had to sweep up after they left because of it. She looked so anxious and unsure, like a child who had made a decision thoughtlessly. She seemed like that all the time. The previous day she had let her girlfriend do everything for her. She barely said anything in English. All she could manage in Spanish was ‘Gracias’, which she pronounced like all the other gringas. Hopefully, her girlfriend corrected her, and she blushed and repeated herself. She never made that mistake again. She seemed to get more confident as the day went on and she got used to the new experience. She almost seemed comfortable when she was with her girlfriend.

Josefina feels a yank on the back of her dress.

“¡Mamá! Tengo hambre.” Antonio tilts his head up to pout histrionically at his mother as he gestures to his stomach. Josefina looks down at her middle son, who has grown into quite the precocious if whiny five year old.

“Ponte la mesa, y te llamaré cuando la cena está lista.” She replies warmly, like she does everyday. Maybe someday he will learn that everyday she calls the boys when dinner is ready, so if she hasn’t called them, it is not ready yet. He continues to look up at her with his sweetest, most innocent looking face, hoping to break her resolve and gain for himself some sweets before dinner, but she isn’t buying it today.

Her mind wanders back to the American couple. After they bought the aloe vera, they left back into the hotel. The next time they came in was just before lunch. The tall one wore an orange shirt with a faded design on it, that she had obviously worn and washed many times over her bathing suit, with weird black strap sandals, while she other one didn’t seem to care who saw her walk barefoot in her black bikini that barely covered anything. The sunburned girl said something in English about her mom and sister, and started to pick through the stand full of postcards. She ended up with a large stack of them, which she gave to the smaller one to buy. She said under her breath in Spanish that she thought they were a waste of money, but Josefina pretended not to notice. However, she couldn’t help laughing when the tiny one came in later, dripping wet, groaning as she pulled a towel that said “Cozumel” off the display and slinked guiltily to the register. Josefina couldn’t help but ask.

“¿Eres mexicana?” She asked. The woman hesitates briefly, while drying herself off with the towel, before answering.

“Sí, soy de Veracruz, pero mi familia se mudó a los EEUU cuando tenía 4 años.” she shrugged. The woman didn’t remember much about Mexico, only tiny glimpses of childhood memories. You can only remember so much at 4, Josefina thinks to herself, picturing her little Antonio, and even littler Miguelito. What would they remember? Josefina had always wondered. She knew many people who had left and gone to America to find a better life for their children. She always wondered how they turned out, the ones who got onto those trains leaving clouds of dust and crying family members in their wake. She could never imagine doing that. Admittedly, they had been very lucky. Josefina had owned the little convenience and souvenir store at the base of the G tower of the Hotel Del Sol for 11 years, which was highly successful. Money got tight outside of tourist season, but they had always managed, even if that meant no Christmas presents for a year or two. She wondered how badly things must be for some people to abandon everything they have ever known.

In the case of this woman, Margarita, she could only put together bits and pieces of the story. She remembered naively ignoring the sound of shouting in the next room while she played with her favorite stuffed toy, a ragged little soft tiger that had shrunken with time. It had a dark stain across its back from some type of juice in some other little girl’s sippy cup before she was born. The stuffed animal had changed hands so many times that nobody knew where it came from anymore. Little Margarita loved it as her own, and it rarely left her arms. She clung to it, a ubiquitous symbol of safety and innocence.

Her aunt and uncle lived a little while away, but came to visit every Semana Santa until that year. Her aunt showed up all alone. Instead of their normal Easter clothes, they all wore black all week. She hated it, because her nice black dress was too hot and itchy, and all the other girls wore normal Easter clothes. At night her mother held her tightly. “Mi Margarita pequeñita.” My little Pearl. She would say it over and over, rocking back and forth as the tears ran down her face, until eventually the tiny child fell asleep in her arms and woke up the next morning nestled in her bed.

Before she knew it, all four of them were packing up their belongings and leaving. She couldn’t carry her tiger with her. She didn’t realize until much later that she would never see it again. You don’t realize what you’ve lost until you want it back.

The roof of the train was freezing cold at night, especially after rainy days. She cried frequently, as any toddler would when confused and frightened for days on end. The adults took turns trying to comfort her, trying desperately to lull her to sleep so that they themselves could try to rest, but it was almost entirely useless. In between trains, she met some of the other little girls travelling to the mysterious land in the north. On sunny days, they would all sit in the grass and play with little rocks and sticks, or pick the tiny flowers that cropped up and exchange them while the grown ups spoke in hushed whispers. She started trying to pick out the words they were saying. The ones she could decipher frightened her. Danger. Beast. Lost. Afraid. She wished she could un-hear them.

Some of those girls and their families disappeared along the way. As an adult, Maggie always tried to soothe herself with the idea that they all made it to America safely, but she never quite believed herself.

This was the first time she’s returned to Mexico. She had finally finished all the paperwork for her dual citizenship, which she was able to get expedited through her work in helping to protect the President of the United States, and now she could move freely between both countries.

Josefina asked about her parents. The woman bit her lip, looking off into the distance, her eyes showing the kind of brokenness you only ever see in mourning. Josefina quickly apologizes, but the woman brushes it off and makes an excuse about having to take the towel she had just bought to her girlfriend. She turned the corner and walked out into the sunlight.

The timer rang suddenly, startling Josefina. She calls out to her sons, resolving to hug them a little tighter tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> I need constructive criticism, but please be nice. Just as a general rule, don't be dicks to writers. Writing fiction takes a ridiculous amount of time and effort.


End file.
